Gay as Mardi Gras
OK, I have my blurb and my cover… and am now just waiting for my release date… should be soon!
After the demise of his relationship with his childhood sweetheart, Janey, Jesse needs to get away. His nan has just the thing: a month-long cruise around Hawaii and the Pacific Islands. It seems perfect—until Jesse realizes what kind of cruise it is.
A gay cruise.
Since Jesse’s roommate, Daniel, is recovering from a broken heart, the two decide to buddy up. They hit it off, and with Daniel now Jesse’s partner in crime, they explore the boat and participate in all the fun activities on offer—with some, ah, interesting results for straight boy Jesse.
“Ooh, what about this one?” asks Nan, brandishing a shirt in front of me as if I’m the bull and she’s the toreador.
“Umm, no, I don’t think so,” I reply diplomatically, absently rifling through a nearby display of shirts. Clothes shopping really isn’t my thing.
“Aah, Nan, it’s purple!”
Now, to any of my college friends that one emphasized word would have been explanation enough, but, of course, not to Nan.
“It’s a girly color.” What I really mean is it’s a gay color, but I don’t want to rehash our earlier discussion.
She raises her eyebrows, pursing her lips, and I know I haven’t fooled her. But all she says as she shoves the shirt back is, “Pity, it would look great with your dark hair.”
So far she’s tried to buy me a pink shirt, red Speedos, two pairs of jeans a size too small, and a variety of tees and wifebeaters, also a size or two too snug.
Delving back into the rack, she extracts the black version of the purple shirt. Now this I like. The fabric’s kind of shiny, which I ordinarily wouldn’t go for, but as it’s a bit of a dressy shirt and the buttons are a rather flashy, I figure it would be good to wear to one of what I hope will be one of the many nightclubs on the boat. At Nan’s urging, I try it on.
I don’t have the patience to trot off to the change rooms again, so I just shirk my tee and slip my arms into the shirt as Nan holds it out for me. Man, it’s so good to be a guy when it comes to this sort of thing—imagine being a chick and always having to find the change rooms to try anything on. What a pain in the ass that would be.
“Nan, I need the next size up,” I say as I do up the last button. The shirt is straining across my chest.
“No, you don’t.”
Tilting my head to the side, I give her a long hard look. “Nan, I’m just about busting the buttons.”
“Jesse, work with me here. You’re not helping yourself, you know. Have you never heard the saying, ‘It pays to advertise.’?”
“Nan, what good will the advertisement be if all the buttons are flying around the room when I’m on the dance floor, pulling one of my John Travolta moves? You don’t want me taking out the eyes of a potential, umm, lady-love, do you?”
“Touché,” she chuckles. “One size up it is.”